Walled In
by Gamebird
Summary: Sylar and Peter have been trapped behind the Wall for more than three years. Sylar's been flirting with Peter for some time. Peter's resistance finally crumbles, but he's never been one for half-measures.
1. Bookends

**Title: **Walled In  
><strong>CharactersPairing:** Peter/Sylar  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Words: ~<strong>10,000 in seven chapters  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Explicit sexual content  
><strong>Setting:<strong> The Wall, about three years in.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Sylar's been flirting with Peter for some time. Peter's resistance finally crumbles, but he's never been one for half-measures.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Inspired by thegreyhawke on LJ, who did wonderful and much appreciated beta work for me, as well as providing such a fascinating take on Sylar that I write 'her' version of him here (as much as I can attempt to do so). This story is a flip of Seeing Stars, where Sylar was the initiator.

* * *

><p>It started so innocently – a hand brushing against his as Sylar reached past him to point out a book. "No, it's this one," Sylar said. They'd touched before and Peter was well aware that Sylar went out of his way to 'innocently' touch him, just like he'd now crowded close to point at the book he was talking about. They were in the library. Sylar was talking about his favorite reads, giving summaries and highlights. Peter had been getting testy lately and he'd blamed it on boredom, so Sylar had suggested maybe he should put together a reading list. Reading was, after all, what Sylar did when he was bored. Boredom actually had little to do with Peter's problem and when Sylar touched him this time, he just couldn't stand it anymore - something had to give.<p>

Sylar didn't withdraw his hand right away – leaving it resting casually on the shelf, leaning in and looming over the shorter man while still managing to keep two or three inches of space between every part of their bodies. Sylar had a lot of practice at this – it was much of why Peter was 'testy.' Of course, it would have probably helped if Peter had moved away or discouraged it, but instead he kept catching himself creating opportunities for their proximity and reveling in the moments when some 'inadvertent' motion brought them into contact. The conflict he was feeling inside about this, the cognitive dissonance between being attracted to and repulsed by the man who had murdered his brother, was what was making him jumpy and snappish - not boredom. Peter reached up and pointed at the spine of the book in question, saying, "Okay. That looks good. We can add it to the list." And then he set his hand down on top of Sylar's.

Sylar froze in place like a statute, just in case Peter had done that accidentally. But it was no accident and a moment later Peter confirmed that by rubbing his thumb across and over Sylar's. "Is this okay?" Peter asked with surprising calm. It wasn't like he hadn't been fantasizing about this for weeks now, but fantasies were one thing and once he'd finally given himself permission for thinking about Sylar that way, they'd come fast and furious. This wasn't a fantasy.

Sylar's voice, on the other hand, nearly squeaked. "Y-yeah," he said breathily as Peter started moving his whole hand in a caress of those long, slender, precise fingers. They felt even better than Peter had expected – softer. Somehow he'd expected Sylar's hands to be rougher, like his own. Not that Peter's hands were calloused, but Sylar's hands spent more time on delicate tasks, applying finesse. Peter was more of a brute force kind of guy.

He turned a little, looking up into Sylar's face, seeing hope there – so much hope and longing, yearning and wishing fervently that this wasn't a dream. He let his hand trail across Sylar's forearm. The taller man was wearing a long sleeved shirt rolled up to his elbows. He felt the wiry hairs against the back of his hand and watched the progress he made towards Sylar's elbow. He dropped his hand under Sylar's forearm and followed it back the other way, feeling the softer, smoother and nearly hairless underside. Sylar sucked in air and stood straighter, virtually at attention. Peter swallowed. He almost wished it _was_ a dream where it wasn't him doing this. But no. This was _him_ and before he went any further, he needed to stare that fact in the face and accept it.

Peter's breathing sped up as he took all the denial and abstinence he'd been letting his conscience inflict on himself and crushed it. He wasn't going to deny himself this. Not now. He wanted. He needed. It was being offered. He was going to take. He'd beat himself bloody for it later, metaphorically, but right now he was going to finally give in to temptation - consequences be damned.

He finished turning, leaning in and closing those few inches, so carefully maintained for so long that he was surprised Sylar didn't lean away to keep the distance. Sylar wasn't pulling away though. Peter eyed his lips and parted his own, stopping just short, the taste of Sylar's breath on his tongue, its warmth against his lips. The other man closed that last bit, staring wonderingly at his companion, moving his lips gently against Peter's for a moment in their first kiss – soft and chaste, surreal after all the violence that had passed between them over the years.

Peter parted from him before it became more. He smiled, slipping a hand around Sylar's waist and pulling the other man into more contact. Sylar's brows climbed and he started to grin in unrestrained delight. Peter came back to him, kissing his neck and nipping the stubble-covered skin one nibble at a time. He tasted him in little bites and short sucks. Sylar actually whimpered. He moved his hands to rest lightly on Peter's hips, obviously still unsure of what was happening and how far Peter was going to take it. Peter chuckled and for a moment he rested his forehead against Sylar's neck, as the taller man raised his hands and let his own arms begin to encircle Peter.

"Oh God," Peter said. The feeling of arms around him undid him more than the kiss. "Come here." He moved a hand behind Sylar's neck and pulled him down for a much more passionate kiss – harder, deeper and more demanding now that the ice had been broken. Things started moving much faster – hands roamed frantically, clothes became hurriedly unfastened, mouths traveled restlessly across skin and moans were pulled from eager throats.

Peter took Sylar in his hand as soon as he was free and leaned into him, stroking and looking up at the lost, bewildered expression on the other man's face. Sylar was staring off at the rack of books behind the empath. His mouth hung open and he panted. A subtle blush was fast coloring his features, the speed of which wasn't really surprising. The last time Sylar had shared sexual intimacy with anyone was a relative time of years ago. He'd been touching Peter because he wanted him, after all.

Peter knew that perfectly well. He stroked harder and faster, cupping his hand over the tip when Sylar throbbed under him and came. The other man made a high, breathless sound and he sagged. He looked down to see Peter take his come-slicked hand and begin to stroke himself, looking right at his partner, looking intently at his face while Peter bit his own lip. Peter wasn't going to let himself pretend this was anyone else. If he was going to do this, then he was going to give this man the respect he deserved during it. Sylar watched in return, wide-eyed and blown by all of this – it was so much all at once – while Peter jerked himself off, finishing with a hard grunt, nearly as quick at it as his companion and for much the same reason.

Breathing heavily, he leaned forward against Sylar, who embraced him again, still floored by how they'd gone from occasional, unreciprocated touches to _this_. It wasn't like Peter didn't have a history of leaping before he looked. They stood together for a long moment, processing what had happened. "Oh, Peter," Sylar sighed, but it wasn't the right thing.

There was no 'right thing' Sylar could have said at that moment, as what Peter had done was crashing around the empath's ears, hammering against his chest. _Why? Why? Why?_ was all he could think. He knew the why – it was just at odds with so much else he was feeling. Now that it was over and he'd done it, all he could think of was what was going to happen next, what did this mean to Sylar and what was Peter doing to another _human being_ by using him like this? He was torn up inside, because you didn't share intimacy like this with someone without feeling for them - or at least Peter didn't. He wouldn't. He wasn't going to let himself fall that far. And yet he couldn't let himself feel for Sylar because of what the bastard had done to his brother. Nathan, and a vision of Sylar killing him, loomed large in Peter's mind. He pulled away abruptly, straightening his clothes. He spun and stalked away, leaving Sylar gape-mouthed behind him.

A few moments later, he heard Sylar coming after him, calling out, "Peter! Peter?"

He wheeled on him, snatching up the nearest book and holding it preparatory to flinging it. Sylar stopped, eyes darting between the obvious, if not-terribly-dangerous threat and Peter's face. Peter snarled, "Stay the fuck away from me!" When Sylar just stood there as if stunned, Peter threw the book down and strode away, shaking his head at his own stupidity and desperation. _What kind of an idiot am I? I've fucked everything up!_

Behind him, he heard Sylar quip quietly, "You started it."


	2. A Break from the Routine

The next day Peter did what he hadn't done a single time since he'd arrived here in this crazy dream world: he hid. He stayed in his apartment and wouldn't come out. He didn't answer the door either and Sylar _did_ knock, breaking one of their unspoken rules of actually coming to his door. The other man didn't pound. He just rapped politely and waited, then a few minutes later did it again. Peter sat at the table, holding his head and not responding.

He was caught up by emotion. He wanted more of that – touching, caressing, loving maybe even – and he wanted it emphatically. He couldn't resolve the fundamental contradiction – wanting and not wanting, craving and repulsed. A day of tearing himself up over it was as much as he could take. The next morning he dragged himself out in the predawn gloom, skulking across the street to where they'd discovered a piano early in his stay in this strange world.

He played slowly, picking out melancholy songs. It didn't take too long before the sound drew his only companion. For a while, Sylar stood in the doorway and Peter could feel the man's gaze prickling along his spine. He refused to look up, going so far as to shift on the bench so his back was squarely facing Sylar and he couldn't even see the man in his peripheral vision. The next time he glanced back, Sylar had gone to the couch they'd brought into the room months and months ago. He had taken up a book and was at least pretending to read.

It was a routine between them. Peter felt some of the tension in his shoulders leave as Sylar played his expected role. Previously, they'd fight; Peter would give Sylar the silent treatment; Sylar might rail at him for a while more, but eventually he stopped even that; Peter would play the piano, or the guitar, or occasionally do something else but it was usually the music; Sylar would come be near him and read, or bring some other small project of his and they'd just be near each other quietly – maybe for a few hours, or even days or weeks if the fight was serious; things would eventually calm down and go back to normal. Peter wasn't sure he wanted things to go back to normal. How could they?

He played. Hours passed. Sylar left, then returned bearing a box. He walked over next to Peter and produced a plate with a sandwich from within the box, followed by a bottle of water and a convenience-store sized bag of chips. He offered these silently. Peter took them, turning to straddle the bench and setting his food on it. He looked down fixedly, not daring to raise his eyes. He felt so ashamed of himself. He just wanted to crawl off under a rock and die. He knew how this must be hurting the other man. He _knew _it and yet Peter couldn't stop the way he was feeling.

Sylar stood there for longer than necessary, watching that. Finally he said, "You've been in here a long time. I get it. You're … lonely. It didn't mean anything."

Peter cringed, feeling tears sting his eyes, of all things. "Please, Sylar, leave me alone," he whispered hoarsely. "I can't deal with this." It meant something, all right. He'd have never done it if it hadn't meant something. He just wasn't ready to face what it meant. Maybe if Sylar just gave him a little time … it wasn't like time was in short supply here.

Sylar shifted his weight slightly and looked down at the miserable man. He said, "I just want you to know … my door's open to you. Any time. For any reason. Whether it means anything or not."

Peter cringed again, wincing from a nearly physical pain. But he'd been the one who started this. He couldn't flee from it. He was thankful when Sylar walked off to the couch, taking his meal across the room. The silence was palpable.

Peter ate slowly. The food was dry in his mouth even though he knew it was prepared perfectly fine. He didn't open the chips. His stomach was in a knot. He rubbed his forehead, shaking his head and finally pushed his plate to the end, sandwich only a quarter eaten, and swung his leg back over the bench. He picked a piece of music that was difficult and complicated, something to bury his mind in and distract him from everything else. It worked.

It was a surprise when Sylar walked up next to him however long after and rested a hand on Peter's shoulder. That wasn't innocent either. It was familiar and out of bounds with how they'd been before the incident in the library. Sylar didn't get to touch him; that was the way it was. Hence the 'accidental' touches; those were okay. But things had changed because Peter had changed them. This was a gesture of familiarity just begging to be rebuffed … or accepted. Sylar was pushing it to see where he stood. Peter had been with him in this world long enough to know that very basic pattern, at least. He took a very deep breath and let it out. He didn't brush off the hand. He didn't pull away. But at the same time, he couldn't return it.

Still looking at the keyboard, Peter said quietly, as steadily as he could manage with that spot of warmth and human contact on his shoulder, "Go away. Please. I _can't_."

Peter could hear the small smile in Sylar's voice without having to look to his face. He knew that despite his words, Peter's lack of rejection of the touch was being counted as a victory by the other man. It probably was. Sylar said lightly, "I came over here for the plate, Peter, not a blow job."

Peter choked a little, caught between laughing at that (because he deserved it, _definitely_) and being even further mortified.

Now Sylar was grinning and the smirk was heavy in his tone as he added, "But if you feel like you _can_ sometime … I'll certainly take you up on it." He was silent for a moment. Peter hung his head and a moment later the hand lifted from his shoulder. Instead of leaving, Sylar touched the back of Peter's skull and let his fingers trail down through his hair to the nape of his neck. It was a lot more of a familiarity than just touching his shoulder, but for Christ's sake, Peter had jerked the man off and come himself.

Peter shuddered as every part of him woke up at that touch. It felt so good and it was such a small thing. Sylar repeated it, petting him slowly. Peter bit his lip hard. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure Sylar could hear it. Then the other man patted him on the shoulder and said, "Anytime." He reached down casually to retrieve the plate. He walked away, and Peter only just caught himself from letting his forehead fall against the keys. He was so thankful Sylar left then. He thought he might freaking pass out from the stress if he didn't.


	3. Nocturnal Missions

That night Peter tried to go to sleep, but it wouldn't happen. All he could think about was having someone stroke the back of his head, petting his hair, brushing against him, the warmth of their body as they crowded close to him, teasing, taunting, smiling at him, looking him up and down, flirting, smirking … inviting. He couldn't get his goddamn hard-on to go away either and he'd be damned if he was going to masturbate _now_. Quite literally hot and bothered, he finally threw the tangled sheets off and got dressed. He'd just walk it off. Literally.

And so he walked. He didn't know how far or for how long. It felt like hours. It seemed like miles. He took turns randomly. He didn't bother looking at the city. It was impossible to get too far away anyway. Even so, when he realized that he recognized where he was, it came as a shock that he'd managed to get so completely turned around. He was nearly back to where he started, just a block or two away from his own apartment. The reason why this particular building was so familiar was because Sylar lived in it.

He looked up at the lightless window and sucked in air. It felt like someone was passing a current through his body. _'My door is open … anytime.' _Sylar had actually been nice to him today, which was something of a departure. While yes, they'd agreed to be civil to one another within the first week of Peter's life in this world, Sylar had remained an asshole pretty non-stop. He spent much of his time being superior, resentful of Peter's past, condescending or just plain vicious. Peter could imagine better people to be stranded with. He could think of few who were worse. But today Sylar had been nice, as he had been off and on for weeks recently, Peter realized. It coincided unmistakably with Peter's growing interest in the man as a … well, as a _man_.

Still, it was fucking rude to show up in the middle of the night. They had a rule - no going to each other's apartments unless invited. But wasn't that an invitation Sylar had made? Maybe if they just talked. _Yeah, right. Talking - that's what I want to do. Ha._

His feet started to carry him forward of their own volition. He caught himself at the entrance to the building, panting. _No. No. Goddamn it, no. At least … At least I need to be prepared. In case … just in case …_ He couldn't finish the thought, but he turned away and hustled off. He knew where he could find what he wanted and less than ten minutes later he was back, hurrying so he wouldn't have time to change his mind. He pounded on the door like a madman.

Sylar looked suitably startled and tousled when he opened it, taking in Peter's drawn features, flushed face and agitated manner. A second later he was startled further when Peter handed him a condom and a small packet of lube. Sylar took them automatically, blinking between the items and Peter, who had yet to say so much as a single word. What _could _Peter say? Sylar, on the other hand, said, "Okay."

Peter pushed inside at that agreement, embracing him and tilting his head up for a kiss. Sylar met him immediately, reaching out with one hand to catch the edge of the door and swing it shut without his lips ever leaving Peter's. The smaller man didn't notice. He was too busy realizing that Sylar's pajamas were thin and left little of his body to the imagination. Peter ran his hands up and down Sylar's back and sides and then his chest as he finally broke from the kiss with glazed eyes.

"Sylar …" Peter said, drawing the word out and looking down, breathing hard.

"I have a bed. Come on." Sylar drew him to it. Peter looked at it, eyes wide. _I'm about to get in bed with Sylar. Literally, really, truly going to get __**in bed**__ with him._ He froze up, unable to act. All the reasons why he shouldn't be doing this paraded through his mind as he tried to ignore what was staring him in the face. After a beat, Sylar unzipped Peter's jacket and slowly pulled it off of him, pushing it down his arms and watching Peter's face to make sure this was welcome. Peter helped a little, but kept staring past the man at the bed. He couldn't leave. Well, he could, but he wouldn't. He was far too stubborn for that. Sylar lifted Peter's shirt by inches at first, then the rest of the way and again, Peter helped, but couldn't bring himself to do it himself.

Sylar drew in a deep breath after tossing the garment aside, looking Peter over. He smiled appreciatively and raised his eyes to see that Peter was finally looking at him. Sylar was a fantastically good-looking man and his expression right now was human, interested, and maybe even a little caring. Peter leaned in for another kiss and Sylar managed to rest one hand on his chest as he closed with him, letting the other snake around Peter's back to caress his bare skin. His thumb rubbed over Peter's nipple and the stimulation tore a groan from the empath. Sylar smirked, ruining the impression he'd made only moments before. Peter hated that smirk. He absolutely loathed it.

"You fucking arrogant bastard," Peter said when their lips parted. He ought to leave. He tensed to pull away, but Sylar rubbed his thumb back and forth repeatedly now and played him like an instrument. Peter's eyelids fluttered shut and his back arched. He quit thinking about going. Instead, they quarreled about position. Sylar lost the argument and topped reluctantly, taking Peter from behind. Other than the position, Sylar fucked him the way _he_ wanted. Sylar gave him too much at first, all at once in a painful shove that made Peter cry out, bite his lip and ball his hands into fists in the sheets. Then he took Peter with agonizing patience and slowness, ignoring the empath's pleas for 'faster' and 'harder' once Peter had relaxed, gotten over the rough entry and was ready for more.

Peter was glad of the position, where he didn't have to see Sylar's face, where there was no chance the other man would turn him off completely with a single expression. He still nearly lost it a couple times, cold feet making him tense and shiver and want to yank his clothes on and run away. But he stayed; he'd started it so he was going to finish it. He _wanted_ and Sylar tortured him with a slow pleasuring that made his head spin. It would have been better if he hadn't thought Sylar was disregarding his desires on purpose.

Peter lost all sense of time, and of everything except a body moving with his. When he came it was like he'd gone blind for a second. All his senses failed him except touch - he could feel Sylar's hands on his hips and his shaft within him, pistoning harder now that Peter had peaked – the way Peter had wanted him moving earlier, but he hadn't gotten it. Sylar followed him a few moments after, the watchmaker's long fingers pressing into him firmly, holding them together after his last, deepest thrust. Peter shuddered. The intensity made the Italian loopy, drowsy and muddled his thoughts.

Sylar pulled out and discarded the condom. He gestured, clearly intending to climb in bed with him. He told him, "Move over, _Petrelli_," and there was that amused, self-satisfied lilt to his voice that went all through Peter. This whole thing was a mistake.

Peter shook his head and got to his feet unsteadily. He grabbed at his clothes and started putting them on.

"Peter," Sylar said, his voice tired and irritated, "just _stay_."

Peter shook his head, which was now getting clearer, and yanked up his pants. He snatched up his shirt and jacket and slipped his feet into his shoes. Poisonous words fell from his mouth. "I have to go. This is wrong. I can't be with you like this." _Not when I can't forget all those times in here you've called me by my last name, making a point of it, holding it against me. Bet you enjoyed fucking me over. Bet I'll never hear the end of it now - and not because of the sex, but because I gave in. My own stupid fault. I might deserve whatever you say about this, but I don't have to do it again._

Sylar looked off to the side. At another time, he would have railed and given vent to his anger, but now he was silent. He was thinking this over, trying to figure out what he was doing wrong. Peter was no help. He left, the door banging shut behind him.


	4. Angry Encounters

Peter did a lot of thinking that night about what he was doing wrong. Things with Sylar were a bad case of too much, too fast. They needed to have a relationship, more trust, more _respect_, before this went any further. Peter was too conflicted, too _fucked up_ by losing the person he loved most to this man. It was unfair even to Sylar to do this to him. If Peter couldn't set aside the past, then he could at least change the future.

The next morning, Peter wasn't surprised to see Sylar settled in on the steps of the building opposite him, waiting and reading a book that he set aside as soon as Peter came out. Nor was he surprised the other man was in what appeared to be a good mood. The smugness was expected and Peter would even go so far as to say he deserved it. The empath walked across the street to him. He might as well get this over with.

"What happened last night," Peter said and he had Sylar's full attention even more than he had when he'd walked over, "it can't happen again."

Sylar grinned slowly. "Sure. Whatever you say."

Peter looked up, to the side, anywhere else but at Sylar's beaming face. "No. I'm serious. No more."

"Right!" Sylar said with positive cheer, totally not taking Peter seriously. "You know where I live." The other man sniggered to himself and reached down for his book again. "Obviously."

"No," Peter said, struggling to keep this about himself and not Sylar. "What we're doing is _wrong_. What _**I'm**_ doing is wrong!" _I don't even like you!_

"Peter," Sylar said in a tone of gentle chiding, "something being '_wrong_' has never stopped me in the past. You know that better than anybody." He smirked again, tossing out yet another small reminder of Sylar's past misdeeds. Quite often, he acted almost proud of them. Peter's jaw worked as he studied the façade of the building beyond Sylar's back. "Besides, _Petrelli_, you're a pretty good lay." Sylar made an expansive gesture with the hand not holding the book. "It's not like I have a lot of other options, but I give you definite points for spontaneity. You're really intense. And noisy."

Peter made a garbled noise in his throat and Sylar laughed _again_. "You think this is funny?" Peter snarled.

Sylar sobered a little. "Yes, Peter. I do. It's hilarious." Peter glared at him, so Sylar said with a sarcastic rise of his brows, "No, I'm sorry, let me rephrase: _You_ are hilarious."

"Well fuck you!"

"Out in the street? Kinky, but let's do it." Sylar laid back on the steps in mock invitation, grinning lasciviously.

Peter put both hands to his face and spun away, growling in frustration. He ran those hands through his hair. "You are a homicidal, psychopathic piece of shit who has fucked your life up, alienated or killed everyone who ever cared about you, and created all the problems you've got right now!" _Okay, so much for keeping this about me and instead of Sylar._

That stung the other man, just as Peter had expected and intended. Sylar scrambled to his feet. If they were going to have a fight, he wasn't going to take it sitting down. "Hey, you're the one who showed up at my apartment in the middle of the fucking night with a goddamn _condom_ expecting to be serviced! You ungrateful dick!"

"Is that the problem?" Peter snapped at him, pointing at Sylar's chest but not approaching him. They were still a good ten or fifteen feet apart. A number of their arguments here had gone to blows. Peter didn't want this one to. "You want me to thank you for giving you what you've been practically begging for, is that it?"

Sylar snorted and affected a smug grin. "I think we both know who's going to come begging next time he gets horny late at night."

"No," Peter said firmly. "_**It's over**_."

"'_It's over?_'" mocked Sylar as Peter turned and began to stride away. Sylar kept pace with him, adopting an even more biting, sarcastic tone. "'_It's over?_' Wow. Are you breaking up with me? Oh my God, _you are!_ I didn't even know we were together! Were we like, an item, or something? This is so high school! I love it!"

Peter ignored him and continued walking in a fast but steady pace. _So much for trust and respect._

After a handful more steps, Sylar said, "Peter? No comeback? Is that the best you've got? Earth to Peter?" There was no answer. Sylar rolled his eyes and groaned. "Oh, shit. You're not going to quit talking again, are you? Because that's going to make it difficult in bed with you, you know?" Sylar fell behind as Peter pulled away, walking off ahead of him down the street. "Come on, Peter, don't be this way! You know you're just going to start talking to me again in a few days!"

Sylar sighed and stopped entirely, talking loudly as if to himself. It was something he did when Peter gave him the silent treatment. "He can't be that upset. He enjoyed it, didn't he? I thought he enjoyed it. I know _**I**_ enjoyed it. It was great - fun was had all around. That's all that matters!"

_No, you fuckwit, it __**isn't**__,_ Peter wanted to reply, but he didn't. There was absolutely no way he could compete with Sylar in a battle of wit or sarcasm. The only recourse Peter had was to remove himself from the situation, which he was speedily doing. Sylar knew too well how to make Peter feel one inch tall and he wasn't shy about doing it. _Yet another reason why this has to stop __**now**__. It should have never gotten started._

Sylar called after him, "Peter? Come on, man!" The empath was quite a ways off by now, but could still hear him. There were no other competing noises in the empty city, after all. Sylar yelled anyway to be sure he heard this: "YOU WOULDN'T BE SO UPSET IF YOU HADN'T ENJOYED IT!"

_That was true,_ Peter admitted to himself. Of course, he probably could have been talked out of breaking it off if Sylar had taken his feelings about it seriously, if Sylar was willing to admit in any way that Peter had a right to feel torn. But he didn't and that was why it had to end. Whether or not Peter had enjoyed it was immaterial.


	5. Concessions

Peter had come to this place with the intention of getting Sylar out so the man could fulfill a prophetic dream and thereby save thousands of lives. As soon as Peter had arrived, he'd asked Sylar to help. Instead of agreeing to _help_, Sylar had agreed to let Peter get him _out_ - a very different proposition, and Peter knew it. But after only a half-second's hesitation, he'd put his hand on Sylar's shoulder and tried anyway, trusting that fate would work it's magic and all would work out.

It didn't work. He'd had years now of being stuck here with Sylar and not a single time had the man agreed to do as asked once (and if) they got outside. Peter brought it up occasionally. The conversation never went anywhere he wanted. Sylar would accuse him of trying to manipulate him and use him; the killer would get defensive and angry; Peter would get his back up. Was it really so hard to agree to help people? To give a little of yourself? Apparently it was.

Peter feared Sylar would "save" the others by killing Emma. He wondered if what the dream meant was that he should have found Sylar, duplicated his shape-shifting, and used his form to infiltrate the carnival so that it was actually Peter, disguised as Sylar, who was saving Emma. He wondered why he didn't see himself in the dream - was it because as soon as they left here, Sylar killed him?

Peter had come here in an act of faith, ready to accept whatever happened if it saved all those people he'd sensed in peril in the dream. He'd thrown himself into this mental prison even while Matt's words and thoughts hammered at him in warning. Now that he was here, he tried to tell himself he was still as willing to make that sacrifice as before, but it was like every doubt was magnified. He was frustrated, both with himself and with this recalcitrant other man.

His play for affection had been ill-thought-out at best. Hell, he was still thinking it was possible the man might murder him when they got out. Why was he getting in bed with him? A few kind gestures and touches did not constitute redemption, even if it had stirred Peter's heart (and loins) for the first time in relative years.

Days passed. Peter kept to himself, leaving the room whenever Sylar tried to join him. He did a lot of walking, jogging and lifting weights - anything to tire himself out. The craving for the other man's company faded, but it never went away entirely. Sylar looked him up every few days for a while, trying to pull him into conversation. Or at least, that's probably what he thought he was doing. Really he just showed up and was obnoxious, condescending and sarcastic until he ran out of snarky things to say. This was the 'railing at him' part of their pattern. Usually when it wound down, Sylar would fall silent and become patient. Eventually one of them (usually Peter) would say something casually and the other would reply cautiously, then they would go from there.

But now the pattern was broken. Instead of falling silent after the other man tired of insulting the empath, he'd move as close to Peter as allowed and speak in a low voice. Sometimes he'd make promises that things could go back to how they were before the sex, or he'd tell Peter how much he'd enjoyed what they'd done and how much he wanted to do it again. Sometimes his descriptions were lewd and sometimes his words were earnest. Peter continued to ignore him and Sylar would eventually walk away, dejected. He wouldn't stay and wait quietly, reading or working - he'd just leave - sometimes snarling, but usually merely sulking. A few times Sylar came back, but only a few. Weeks passed without one seeing the other.

It tore at Peter's heart. He wasn't just rejecting a lover (which was certainly bad enough by itself), but he was also rejecting a man who, it seemed, had come to think of Peter as his friend, even if Sylar didn't seem to understand why friendship with him was difficult for the empath. Sylar was assured that he was the only show in town. The killer seemed to think that made up for everything - that desperation would overcome any flimsy moral objection or character flaw Peter might otherwise find objectionable.

Peter was brooding at the top of a building when Sylar finally came up to see him. It had been a while, long enough that Peter was secretly glad to see him, glad of the company, glad Sylar was making another attempt after so long. And so they talked. It didn't go well. Peter punched him in the face again - ostensibly for disrespecting Emma, but there was a lot more behind that blow than Sylar's intentional forgetfulness of the woman's name and they both knew it.

Sylar was jealous of her. If only he knew how little there was between her and the empath. Peter stomped off downstairs, intending to take another long walk and avoid the other man some more. Apparently 'a month' was not long enough. Sylar followed him, nagging him about the nature of the world, which was a sore spot between them. Peter engaged him, because he really _was_ tired of being alone. Sylar was, at least, someone to argue with.

And then … Sylar made a concession - a sincere agreement to help, for the first time (the only time, in years) - no strings, no sarcasm, no nothing. His expression looked genuine and despite his many flaws, deceit was not among them. Peter nodded, wondering if maybe Sylar had spent long days and longer nights pondering why someone who wanted him desperately and had no other option would choose loneliness instead of himself - why even Peter, the empath, driven to be social, wouldn't talk to him and wouldn't be near him. Sylar had showed up with a gift, but maybe that was just him trying to buy companionship. His offer now was everything and anything. He wanted to help - he finally wanted to help. Peter accepted the olive branch. A way out presented itself immediately - a wall that they had to break through.

Peter thought the offer was true, but right away Sylar didn't carry through with it. Peter found a sledgehammer and brought it to the barrier, thinking this would be easy, but resenting that Sylar was just following along placidly. He hadn't even gotten his own hammer, so how sincere was he? Peter was shocked when he couldn't so much as chip the bricks. _Fucking mental constructs!_ Sylar suggested he was swinging the hammer wrong, so Peter had him try - no better. Then Sylar shrugged and said, "Okay. That's not the way. We should try something else."

"What else should we try?"

"I don't know." Sylar looked at the wall blankly. "I don't even know why it's here. If I'm going to help you …" he shrugged helplessly. "Well … then why can't we just leave and I'll help you?" He touched the brick with a perplexed expression on his face. Sylar spoke as if to himself, "I thought it finally made sense. That … that I just needed to get over myself. I guess maybe … I haven't?"

Peter snorted. "Just waking up one day and deciding to change doesn't make it so."

"I know," Sylar said softly, a distant, sad expression on his face as his thoughts turned to the past.

Peter looked at him intently. _Has he really changed? Will it last?_ He looked back at the wall. "Well, I'm going to get some more hammers and keep at it."

"What good is _that_ going to do?"

Peter pursed his lips and gave Sylar a hard look for the sarcasm that edged his comment. "When you think of a better way, you tell me. Until then, _help _or leave me alone."

Sylar rolled his eyes. At least this time he helped carry some of the sledgehammers over. For a while, that was the only assistance Peter got with his new project. Instead of working out and lifting weights, he now hammered at the wall. Sylar would watch, but he wouldn't heckle like he would have before. Sometimes he gave advice; other times he tried to lure Peter away with offers of food or rest. He did not offer intimacy, seemingly aware that really was off the table. '_It's over_' – Sylar was taking it seriously now. Peter ignored him, growing more and more frustrated at having to do this alone. He wanted nothing more than to hit _Sylar _with that fucking sledgehammer, instead of the brick.

Sylar was frustrated too, that was clear. After yet another irritable, snarling exchange over something trivial (this time an accidental slip of Nathan's memory of Peter training for track), the other man picked up one of the extra hammers and told Peter he was going to end it. Peter squared off, relieved, actually. _So this is it, huh? This is how it ends - me and him fighting each other with demolition tools?_

But no. Sylar hit the wall - and then he kept hitting it, and clearly, he was going to _keep_ hitting it for as long as it took. Peter joined in a few swings later. The rest of the morning burned away, then the afternoon. Sylar did not shirk; he did not malinger. He didn't suggest breaks, insist they stop to eat or give advice. He hit the wall as hard and as solidly as he could every time, time after time.

Peter kept watching him out of the corner of his eye. He kept expecting Sylar to give up. This was hard work and they were making no visible headway whatsoever. The other man had never shown the stamina for this sort of thing. Abilities were, after all, just short-cuts and Sylar was all about the short-cut. As the afternoon wore on, it was clear the other man still lacked the physical stamina for it, but his mind was undeterred. Sylar's blows rang less and less true. Peter thought at first he was finally giving up, but no - he was giving out, but not up.

"Hey, hold up there," Peter asked and moved to take the tool from Sylar's hands. The handle looked wet in a few places. Sylar looked dazed. He stood panting and didn't resist - hardly seemed to notice - when Peter turned his wrists to see that his soft, sensitive hands were now covered with burst blisters. "Come on," Peter said gently. "Let's get you home."

"Whuh?" Sylar said, blinking and refocusing from staring at the wall.

"Home. To your apartment. Let's go." Peter turned him and slowly urged the watchmaker down the alley, leading him away.

Sylar wasn't entirely spent though. He had enough energy to try to quip, "Of all the times, Peter, that you want to take me up on … take me to my … get … my place? Yeah. Now? Ha. I don't think I'm any good for what you want. I can't even talk."

Peter smiled. He reached down and patted Sylar on the ass, which earned him a truly startled look. The other man had given up all hope. A tiny flicker of it reignited in the back of his eyes. Peter said softly, "Thank you for helping me." _You might be good for what I want after all. That's what I came for here - for your help, for you to find it in yourself to help someone. Maybe you have._


	6. Bringing Down the Wall

Once inside Sylar's apartment, Peter asked, "Where do you keep your first aid stuff?"

Sylar had recovered enough on the walk back to be coherent now. "Under the bathroom sink, in a tote." He went in the kitchen to get some water.

Peter found what he was looking for and brought the plastic box out. He looked from it to Sylar, who walked out of the kitchen, finishing off his drink. Peter said, "There's no point in applying bandages until you've had a shower."

Sylar sniffed himself and smiled. "Heh. Yeah." He walked on past. "I'll be out in a little bit. Don't get into any trouble, now," he teased. He was still going to be Sylar, but the mean-spirited taunting and cutting snark of before had now faded to gentle teasing and occasional sarcasm. Peter could deal with that.

Just as Sylar had never been in Peter's apartment, Peter had never been left alone in Sylar's. Not that he planned to stay that way. No, Peter's thoughts were already moving ahead, scheming and plotting, and for once, his conscience wasn't objecting. He'd really, really appreciated Sylar taking up the hammer on the wall, helping him, contributing and lending his effort without a word. Peter hummed tunelessly to himself and took inventory of the first aid kit. There was nothing he needed to go out and get, so he walked to the bathroom. He could hear the water running inside. He knocked lightly. He knew he'd been heard, but it still took Sylar a moment to respond.

"Yeah?" the other man asked.

Peter smiled, blushing a little and ducking his head even though he was unseen. "Do you want some company?"

There was another significant pause, then the water turned off. "What did you say?"

Peter tried the door – unlocked. He opened it a crack and said clearly, "I asked: Do you want some company?"

Pause. Then just as clearly, Sylar answered emphatically, "_Yes_." He looked out of the shower with an incredulous look on his face as Peter walked in. The empath grinned at him and pulled his shirt off. He was a little ripe as well after a long day working in the sun. Sylar's eyes scanned over the compact, muscular form. The watchmaker's brows lifted a little and he gave a small sigh of desire. Peter noticed how the other man wasn't going back to his shower. Peter slipped off his shoes, then unfastened his pants. He looked off at the corner of the walls and ceiling, then pushed everything down at once. When he straightened, he looked at his companion, who had begun to smile, eyes sparkling a little as the corners of them wrinkled.

Peter stepped out of the pants and asked, "Got room in there?"

"Oh yes." Sylar turned on the spray again and created a space for his companion.

"Hm," Peter hummed and climbed in. The water was hot. It struck Sylar's back as he moved back towards the shower head. It deflected upward around the man and caught the light like a wet halo. Sylar's hair was plastered irregularly across his forehead and temples. It had grown out a lot here in the dream world. He looked very different, like a changed man, not least of which was how the arrogance was absent from his expression. Peter admired what he saw and for a very long moment, that was all they did – look at each other.

Sylar reached out to touch Peter on the outside of the shoulder, rubbing the back of his index finger up and down on the wetted skin. Peter stepped in closer and rested his fingertips lightly on Sylar's chest. He leaned in and licked off water, eliciting an immediate moan. They pressed to each other, touching, exploring and learning.

"These are not the best circumstances," Sylar murmured into Peter's ear.

"They never are," was Peter's response, letting his fingertips dance along the other man's organ. They continued in a slow progression, both of them tired and sore. Sylar rested his damaged hands on Peter's hips and let the empath work him, much as he had in the library. They kissed passionately before, then languorously after, holding each other tenderly while the endless water streamed over them both.

* * *

><p>Peter woke the next morning a little hot and sweaty because he was spooning up against a warm, naked body. It had been … years, and not just relative, since he'd had the pleasure of sleeping with someone. Impulsively, he kissed Sylar between the shoulder blades.<p>

"Mm, you're awake?" Sylar asked, his voice clear enough to indicate he'd been up for some time.

"Yes," Peter said, stretching a little. Sylar put a bandaged hand back immediately on Peter's side, the gentle pressure of his fingertips discouraging the empath from pulling away. Peter accepted the unspoken preference and stayed. He pushed down the sheet instead for some air. "How do you feel?"

"So sore I can hardly move. But even so, I take it back – what I said about this place."

"What's that?"

"It's not hell. Not if it has moments like this in it."

Peter smiled warmly and melted a little inside. He reached up and stroked the outside of Sylar's shoulder, then the nape of his neck. Sylar's hand, still resting on Peter's side, rubbed up and down slightly in encouragement. Peter took the motion as it was intended and let his fingertips brush over the soft skin beneath Sylar's ear, then slowly rimmed the shell of the ear itself. The other man groaned slightly and shifted, luxuriating in the touch. Peter kissed his shoulder blade, tasting him, then resting his forehead against him as his hand went a little higher to toy with Sylar's hair.

Sylar spoke, his tone changing to worried. "Peter? Is this … is the sex some sort of payment for me agreeing to help you?"

Peter kissed his back again. "No. No, it's not. I had sex with you before you offered, remember? This is because you're acting like a decent person. I'm not attracted to assholes." He snorted softly. "Or rather, I'm not attracted to people who act like assholes." He chewed at Sylar's shoulder blade and worked the hand in the man's hair into a loose fist, tugging his head back a little. Sylar gasped and responded, arching his back. _Hm. Note to self: he likes his hair pulled._ Peter didn't pursue it further at the moment, not sure Sylar was up to it after the workout he'd had the day before. "You act different - so I act different. That's all it is." He let go of Sylar's hair and stroked his head. After a beat, he asked, "Would you like a massage?"

"I would _love_ a massage, Peter." Sylar rolled over onto his stomach, groaning with discomfort this time. "Ow. Ow. _Fuck_."

"Your hands are really messed up," Peter said, straddling the man's hips matter-of-factly. Sylar made a happier noise at that contact. So many things were still all new between them. He started to rub, immediately eliciting a flinch and a whine of pain. Sylar did not normally complain much. Just touching him though, Peter could feel the shit shape the man's muscles were in. "Sorry," Peter murmured, lightening his touch and manipulating him more carefully. Attentive, skilled fingers found the knots of tension and began to work him steadily and conscientiously. "Not just your hands. Tell you what – take a couple days, then …" He hesitated.

"Then what?"

"Do you still want to help?"

"Yes. Yes, I do," Sylar answered earnestly. He chuckled. "Sex or no sex, but I've gotta admit, this is certainly persuasive."

Peter nodded, smiling a little. "Then take a couple days for your hands to get a little better and I'll find you some good gloves. The wall's not going anywhere." He leaned down to kiss the man's back once more, feeling warm and trusting towards him. The lingering resentment, the memory of Sylar killing Nathan – it was still there, but it was fading fast. Peter kissed him time after time, feeling good to be able to give affection and please another. He'd wanted to for so long. As he'd realized before, he couldn't hang onto both emotions at once. Something had to give.

That night, Sylar waited for him at the wall. Peter approached, bearing a gift – something for Sylar to read while Peter continued work, because Peter _did_ want him near. They talked. Peter spoke of his appreciation for Sylar's time and presence. Sylar spoke of how he'd changed, and the time they'd spent _together_. Peter gave up that last shred of reluctance and accepted Sylar's redemption. A brick shattered with his very next blow. Sylar snatched up a sledgehammer, heedless of his injured hands, and together they finally brought down the wall between them.


	7. A Time for New Things

"It's a brave new world," Sylar murmured.

"Yup," Peter said. He straightened a little when the back of Sylar's hand brushed his own. It was an accident, of course, just like all those other _accidental _touches. Peter smiled, chewing his lip and trying to hold back the grin. He knew the other man was looking at him out the corner of his eye, waiting for a reaction. Peter's hand brushed back. "Looks like Claire's going to be okay. I don't think the reporters are going to question her to death." _And we should get out of here before anyone recognizes you. I want a few days, or at least a few hours, to prep people._ "You want to go back to my place?"

"Your place?" Sylar said with a questioning tone.

"Yeah, my place," Peter said softly.

Sylar seemed to turn that over in his head. He looked around them at the milling crowds and said doubtfully, "I'm not the only show in town, Peter. There's Emma … and whoever else."

Peter looked at him blankly for a moment, then affected widened eyes. "You're right! Now that we're out, I could have anyone! And anyone I was with wouldn't have to be with me because I was literally the last fucking man on earth, would they?"

Sylar blinked at him as if not sure how to take Peter being the sarcastic one for once.

Peter turned, his hand just happening to move against Sylar's, his fingers wrapping slightly around the other man's. Sylar's eyes widened and he pulled in breath, but he returned Peter's grip immediately. The empath said, "Emma's safe, thanks to you. Now I'm inviting the person I care about the most here to come back to my apartment for the night. Unless … you know … you want to go find 'whoever else' and be with them instead."

Sylar squeezed Peter's hand, the skin of his long, slender fingers whole and healed now. "You know, I've never been to your place." He gave a tilt of his head. "Not like this, at least."

Peter shrugged. "It's a time for new things. Come on. Let's get out of here."

It was a long walk. They spent much of it play-fighting or making out, so it took far longer than it should have to get there. It started with Sylar bumping into Peter in what was probably a genuine accident. Peter waited a stride and jostled the other man's shoulder much more intentionally. From there it went to shoving, then trying to trip each other, then a truce was called. That lasted for a block before Peter caught Sylar with a wide sway of his hips. The next round ended when Peter stumbled and almost took a header into the side of the building. An unseen force caught him and saved him from cracking his skull. A moment later a concerned Sylar had closed with him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm great," Peter said, looping his arms suddenly around Sylar's neck and pulling him down for a kiss. They made out a little right there, kissing and touching, looking into each other's eyes and caressing one another's face. "We really need to get to my place," Peter murmured.

"Mm-hm," Sylar concurred, dragging himself away with difficulty. Peter adjusted his jeans and they moved on, but the playing around with each other didn't end.

Peter insisted they make a pit stop at the little corner store near his apartment. Sylar scanned the newspaper headlines while Peter made his purchases. He was pretty sure he had lube somewhere in his apartment, just as he was certain he had no condoms. Now he had both, where he knew where to find them. The cashier glanced between Peter and Sylar. Peter grinned and waggled his eyebrows suggestively enough that the clerk began minding his own business much more assiduously.

"Come on, lover," Peter said, taking Sylar by the elbow, holding his bag of goods with the other, and heading out.

Sylar glanced back over his shoulder, surprised that Peter would address him like that right in front of the cashier and the other customers. He looked back at Peter and grinned widely at him. "You're not going to make this a secret, are you?" he asked with wonderment.

"No, I'm not. Doesn't mean I'm not going to do what I can to ease the transition for people who knew you before, but no, **you** are not a secret. Matt knows already. I'm pretty sure Ma does too. It's probably why she didn't want me to go."

"Huh," Sylar said with an expression so goofy it was endearing.

They tumbled into the apartment, grappling over the keys (or at least Peter thought that was what they were doing; just about any excuse to get their hands on each other was good to go at the moment). Sylar pulled away from him for a few seconds, alert eyes scanning the place. Besotted by love or not, he still had his instincts.

Peter gave him time for the man to reassure himself, then put his hands on Sylar's cheeks. "That was another life. You've changed." He stroked slowly and watched as Sylar brought his attention back to Peter. He leaned in and kissed tenderly, letting his tongue slide hesitantly within Peter's welcoming mouth. Peter pulled Sylar's body against him, holding him closer and curling his arms up around his shoulders.

This time their love-making was slower, but no less intense. They talked. They questioned. They explored one another. They discussed preferences and boundaries. They played and shared affections until they were both spent, snuggled together once more because in each of their minds was years of being starved for intimacy. No wall stood between them now, and never would again.


	8. Walled In Porn Extra Bit

**A/N: This is the final sex scene from Walled In. After writing it, I perversely decided I didn't want it in the story and cut it.**

When they parted from the kiss, Sylar asked, "You really feel safe with me, don't you?"

"Shouldn't I?" Peter led him to the bedroom and tossed his bag from the convenience store on the bed.

"Yes, you should. As safe as you are with anyone, I guess." He eyed the bag as if he'd just now noticed it, then scanned the rest of the room.

Peter snorted, then sat on the bed and took off his shoes. "Safer. I don't just bring anyone here, you know." Sylar looked at him blankly so Peter added, "I don't think you're going to hurt me. I trust you. I like to think I got to know you over the last … I don't know, felt like a long time." His brows pulled together a little and he toyed with the sock he'd just removed. "Am I going too fast here? I thought …"

Sylar came to him immediately, ran a hand through his hair and urged him back on the bed. Peter went. The other man crawled over him, kissing him passionately. When they parted breathless minutes later, Sylar said, "No, you aren't going too fast. It's just amazing to me that you're doing it at all. I thought there was a good chance you'd be done with me after the carnival. And you're not." He kissed him again.

Peter laughed. "And you helped me anyway?"

"It wasn't about you. It was about me."

Peter nodded. "I know." He looked back and forth between Sylar's eyes. _You really are different. Brave new world, indeed._ "There is no way I am _done _with you."

"Fine. But I want to bottom this time."

Peter cocked his head. "Have you ever even done that before?"

Sylar hesitated, vulnerability fading into his expression. "No," he finally answered.

"I'd kind of gathered." He kissed him again. "Thank you for sharing yourself with me."

Sylar snorted and rolled onto his side. "It's not like I was holding out waiting for you."

Peter poked him in the chest. "Hey! Let me dream, okay?" He started unbuttoning Sylar's shirt, leaning in to kiss his chin, then under it, then on to his neck and collarbone as his fingers worked their way down. He rolled Sylar on his back and spread the clothing, starting in immediately after on his pants. At that the taller man put his hands on Peter's shoulders and for a moment Peter paused, trying to read the intent of the gesture. _Uncertainty._ Peter backed off and gave him some space. The empath rolled up to his knees and pulled his shirt off over his head. He discarded it, then unfastened his own pants and shoved them off. At that, Sylar followed his example and relaxed.

Peter waited on his knees for a sign that his partner was ready. Sylar didn't make him wait long, gesturing for Peter to come to him as he was lying on his back. They kissed sensuously for a while, until Sylar found Peter's shaft and started trailing his fingers up and down it. "Better circumstances," the watchmaker whispered in Peter's ear.

"Much better," Peter agreed. "How do you want this?" He reached over for the bag and opened it, showing off his purchases. He made quick work of the packages, ending up with a tube of lubricant and a rolled condom.

"However you want to give it to me."

Peter snorted softly and began to work his way down the other man's chest, mouthing at all the right spots. Sylar spread for him well before he got down that far, his member standing at attention. Peter licked it, pulling a groan from the other man. "That's not a good answer. I need to know. Are you picky about position?"

"If I've never done it before, then how could I have a preference, Peter?"

Peter let his fingers play up and down the seam of the other man's backside. "Do you want to look at me while it's going on or would you rather face away?"

"I want to look at you, definitely."

Peter nodded, shifting to squirt some lube on his fingers, then sliding them to the right spot. He rubbed with slight pressure, licking along Sylar's shaft. He probed at him until he started getting some give, then slipped a finger inside almost simultaneous with sucking the head of Sylar's cock into his mouth.

"Oh! Oh God, Peter."

Peter sucked steadily, turning his hand and making a 'come hither' motion. Sylar let him know exactly when he hit the right spot. Peter would have smirked if his mouth wasn't busy. He kept pushing Sylar's buttons, feeling the man climb rapidly higher, rolling his eyes up to watch him thrash, trying not to buck against him too hard.

Sylar got out, "No … no, I'm ... Nng."

Peter pulled off and stilled his hand, much as he wanted to continue. Sylar was right on the edge. Peter begged, "Let me finish you?"

"Like this?" the other man said, panting.

"Yes, like this. It's better this way for your first time."

Sylar nodded and Peter began stroking him inside again, watching as the man's eyelids fluttered and his hips hitched. Instead of taking him into his mouth, Peter shifted to grip his tip with his other hand. Sylar moaned and thrust into it, making it only a few motions before coming.

"You are beautiful," Peter murmured, slowly withdrawing his fingers as Sylar's hole gave a few more spasmodic clenches. Peter crawled over him to retrieve a pillow (and the condom), letting Sylar wallow undisturbed in the post-orgasmic haze. He shifted him though to slip it under the man's rump, then sheathed himself and lubed thoroughly. He looked up to see Sylar watching him. "Now?" the other man said.

Peter nodded and applied extra lubricant to the opening. If he wanted to get Sylar when he was most relaxed and most open, he needed to move before the man tensed up again. Peter leaned forward, supporting his weight on one hand while the other aimed. He nudged against him and Sylar cocked his hips in invitation. Peter pushed forward more, entering him, watching Sylar's eyes widen and his mouth open. He wasn't tight yet. Still, Peter asked, "This good?"

Sylar's brows rose. "You're inside of me," he said in a tone of near-disbelief. "Yes, it's good." He hooked his fingers around Peter's biceps and tugged a little. "Come on. It's … it's okay. I always heard this would hurt."

"It does if you're clumsy. It doesn't have to hurt." Peter slid the rest of the way in and Sylar sucked in air. He adjusted himself, realigning his hips to Peter's and put one hand to Peter's cheek. It drifted to the nape of Peter's neck, gripping slightly. The other hand was at Peter's side, touching and holding, as if steadying him. Peter grinned and began to thrust harder, watching the myriad play of emotions across Sylar's face as he felt the sensations of having someone inside of him for the first time.

Peter wanted to ride him forever, but his body had a different idea. Having already been thoroughly turned on by bringing Sylar off, he wasn't going to last long. He let himself go, slamming into his partner, grunting and fucking him hard. Sylar pulled him down against his body, wrapping his long, lean legs around Peter's waist and rolling with the motions. Peter called out when he spent himself inside of him. Breathing hard, he sagged. Sylar's member was stiff between them. He felt the other man's hand slip betwixt their bodies and Peter started to get off of him.

"No," Sylar said. "Stay right there. Lying on me. That's perfect. Just breathe. You're still in me." He stroked himself in hard jerks, coming between them in a few hot spurts moments later. "Oh God," Sylar sighed.

Peter shifted up and kissed him, disengaging from him. He got rid of the condom and came back to climb back in bed next to his lover. He pulled up a sheet. "We have a lot to talk about."

"Mm," Sylar said sleepily. "Yeah, we do."


End file.
